


Two different versions of the universe

by Hazzalovescarrots



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angel Louis, Demon Harry, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Slight torture in the beginning, hostage Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 07:44:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazzalovescarrots/pseuds/Hazzalovescarrots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is a demon, captured by hunters. but not just any hunters. Angels. Louis is his angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two different versions of the universe

**Author's Note:**

> Violence never occurs between Louis and Harry. Harry is sort of tortured in the beginning, but it's not bad. i hope.  
> Don't own 1D.

The streets are dark, the lights in the lampposts flickering lowly. It is very empty, every step echoing loudly. It is damp in the air and cold. Every building has closed, leaving everything silent.

   Harry draws up the collar of his jacket, trying to keep himself warm as he walks the streets. Someone is following him; he can feel it in his bones. Every instinct in his body is telling him to run and he has lost his leader, Connor. He knows that everything about himself is screaming dangerous, what with his dark eyes, hair and clothes and the tattoos running up his neck.

   The tattoos are something he received when he accepted the dark side, when he embraced hell.

   Fire and darkness, that’s what they represent, all that’s evil in the world.

   Harry has just started his training. He began when he turned eighteen, two weeks ago. This, right now, is only part of it. He knows his leader is somewhere, lurking and waiting.      

   There is a tingling sensation that spreads through Harry’s body; it’s the way he reacts to a close presence. He hisses and pulls out a blade, just as a figure leaps out from an alley-way and grabs at his arm. Harry digs the dagger in the attacker’s thigh, causing the larger male to yell in pain.

   “Damn it, Styles!” the figure whispers harshly, roughly tugging him behind a dumpster. He throws Harry to the ground, holding up a finger to his mouth. “We’re being chased.”

   Harry jumps up. He picks his dagger up from where Connor had thrown it. He crouches down, ready to attack. Connor rolls his eyes and pushes him back down.

   “This isn’t part of training. This is real. Hunters are coming,” Connor warns. Harry scoffs.

   “We can take them, come on,” Harry rises, but Connor growls, eyes a cold black. The younger boy can’t hold back a whimper and ducks his chin.

   “These aren’t regular hunters,” Connor says, peeking out from behind the brick wall. “They’re angels.”

   Harry’s eyes widen and he lifts his head to sniff the air. Sure enough, the smell of jasmine and lavender spreads in his nostrils. Angels always have a pure, sweet smell to them, which makes it a lot easier to know when they are around. He picks up another scent.

   Leather. The angels are wearing hunting gear.  

   Harry cringes, backing into a corner. He hisses, feeling his eyes turn black and his tattoos flicker into a starker shade of dark gray. He hears Connor take a deep breath.

   “Stay here,” his leader says, quietly and inches out into the open street. Harry frowns, concentrating on Connor’s scent and presence. In the corner of his mind, he can see him, weapons ready, body coiled like a snake. He sees shadows loping along his vision and he wants to call out to Connor, to warn him, but he knows he’s not allowed to, because it will reveal his position. If demons are anything, it is careful.

   A figure lashes out behind Connor and Harry’s line of sight turns dark. He is snapped back to his own body and freezes. His leader is dead. He knows it; saw it, even. The black of his eyes fade and his tattoos turn transparent. Anger and grief flows through him and he cries out, punching the side of the dumpster so hard, his fist goes through.

   Demons have incredible strength.

   Harry perks up and panics. The sound of the metal breaking echoes and he figures the angels have locked in on where he is. His heartbeat immediately picks up, the rush of his blood pounding in his ears. Already, he can hear footsteps approaching rapidly, but the pain of losing his leader is grounding him; he can’t possibly move, now. His eyes are fixed on the cold, wet asphalt and he is tense, not even moving when he feels someone grab his hair, yanking him to his knees.

   “What’s his rank?” a deep voice calls. The hand holding him pushes his head down, obviously checking out his tattoos, which have faded somewhat, but not enough to be undetected.

   “He is a youngling, sir. I’d say he began his training only a couple of weeks ago,” a rough tone speaks up, right next to Harry. There is a pause.

   “Well, he could be of some use. He’s gotta know about their hideout. Bring him,” the voice orders.

   Harry loses consciousness when he is blindfolded and shoved into a car.

 

The first thing Harry takes notice of when his eyelids flutter open is the fact that he is chained. Long slivers of heavy chinks of silver chain bounds his feet and arms to the floor. His black t-shirt is slashed open in multiple places and lines of blood trail across his chest. His foot is twisted and he can see bloodied knives on a counter not far away.

   Harry groans, feeling the pain of his injuries rush to him. There is wetness and a numb throbbing on his cheek; it is probably a cut.

   “He’s awake. Get sir Tomlinson,” someone says. A figure moves among the shadows and a door creaks. Harry is in some sort of cell, with cement walls and no light except for a low flickering from a lamp hanging broken from the ceiling. Harry is in pain.

   His body isn’t healing, like it should. It would normally only take seconds for him to go back to normal, but he can feel every broken bone. Even, if he can’t see it, he’s pretty sure his arm is twisted behind his back, popped out of its socket. He tries moving it and a sharp pain shoots down to his fingers and travels the length of his spine.

   The ringing in his ears is all he can hear so he doesn’t notice as a man approaches. The man drags him up into a sitting position and Harry is jolted, causing more pain and he screams. It is like fire coursing through every part of him and it just doesn’t go away.

   “Shut up. Can’t have the whole house hearing ya,” the same man who ordered his capturing says. Harry looks up at him, jaw clenched to keep from yelling out. The man, apparently the boss, judging from the superior tone of his voice as he speaks to his soldiers, is burly, with hairy arms and chest. He is wearing glasses and a white shirt pushed up to the elbows.

   Harry scrunches up his nose, turning his face away, trying to ignore the burning sensation that ripples along his ribs.

   _Those are probably broken, too,_ he thinks. _Why the hell aren’t I healing?_

   “Jonny, sir, you can’t risk Jay or Louis coming down here. Keep him quiet,” a woman to the man’s left says. So, this guy’s name is Jonny. It doesn’t really sound very threatening. Jonny’s eyes widen. He lets go of Harry’s tattered shirt, causing the boy to fall to the ground, again calling out loudly.

   Jonny and his soldiers freeze, seemingly waiting for something. All that is heard in the cell is Harry’s small whimpers and Jonny’s breathing. He hurries to Harry’s side, grabbing him by the neck.

   “Tell me, quickly, where is your-”

   “Damn it! Let me in, Nick, or I swear I will call your mum about this,” a female voice says, outside the door. The reason Harry could pick that up is because of his keen hearing.

   “I don’t think so, ma’am-ugh!” the breath is blown out of the guard standing there and there is a thump, like he has fallen to the floor.

   “That really wasn’t necessary, Louis,” the woman says as the door is flung open. Behind it, she is standing with dark hair, clad fully in white; jeans, a t-shirt and a leather jacket. To her right, there is a boy.

   He is gorgeous. Everything about him absolutely screams angel. His hair is soft-looking and a caramel brown. It is swept up into a quiff, curled into a spiral at the top. His amazingly blue eyes are fierce as they stare down Jonny, who is honestly looking terrified. The boy called Louis has a defined, clean-shaven jawline and sharp cheekbones that make his features look carved from marble.

   He wears a white band t-shirt that clings to his torso, white jeans that look sprayed on; they are that tight. He has hips that curve sensuously down into strong thighs. His ankles are showing and he is bare-foot. He has his hands jammed into the pockets of his light-blue denim jacket. His skin is golden like he carries the sun inside him and there is a strength to him that makes the soldiers back down, hiding their faces and ducking into corners.

   When he lays eyes on Harry’s broken form, he visibly cringes, lunging forward, but the woman stops him. She calmly strides up to Jonny, pulling him up by his wrist.

   “Dear husband,” she says sarcastically. “I’d like to know what the hell is going on. We could hear the screams from _upstairs_. What are you doing to him; breaking every bone in his body?”

   “Actually, yes,” Harry cuts in and shocks her. Her face is grim as she looks to Jonny, scolding him with her eyes. He sputters, holding up his hands.

   “Jay, please, he could give us-”

   “Don’t,” Louis cuts in, hurrying to Jay’s side. “You’re torturing him and that breaks every promise you’ve ever sworn. You’re here to protect people, not harm them.”

   “Oh please, son, he’s not a _person._ He’s a demon,” he spits the word out, curling his lip as he glares at Harry. Louis’ eyes fall to Harry, again and his mouth gapes open. He reaches out and lifts Harry’s arm, the one that isn’t twisted out of its socket.

   “You used blessed iron on him?” Louis shouts. “It could kill him!”

   Jonny laces his fingers together and Harry can see them shaking. “It was the only way to keep him down.”

   Louis takes a look at Harry’s neck, at the ink there and rubs his palms over his face. “He has barely started his training.” He stands up. “He’s _eighteen!_ He’s only a year younger than me. _”_    

   Harry’s head thumps against the wall and he slumps backward.

   “Mum, get him out of here,” Louis says in the direction of the dark-haired woman.

   _These are his_ parents _?_ Harry thinks. Jonny groans out in protest. Jeesus, in the presence of his own child, he acts like a baby who isn’t allowed his favorite toy. Jay drags him out of the room while Louis growls and snatches a crazily sharp and shiny sword from the collection on the counter. Most of Jonny’s soldiers vacate the room, but one of them stays. A brown-haired boy with wide, brown puppy eyes, who’s holding a dagger limply in one hand, like he doesn’t even know it’s there.

   “Thanks, Liam, for warning me. Who knows what he would’ve done?” Louis says over his shoulder, addressing the boy. Liam frowns.

   “No problem. One minute more and he could’ve killed the kid.”        

   “Still in incredible pain over here,” Harry groans out, thrashing his head about. “And I’m not a kid.”

   “You’ve got attitude, even when you’re nearly slashed to bits.” Louis smiles and steps forward when Harry whimpers out. The smile vanishes off his face and is replaced with concern. He raises the sword up to his hip, wringing his hands around the handle and bringing it down.

   Harry closes his eyes and hears a clinging noise repeated four times and then feels gentle and soft hands pull him away from the wall. He flutters his eyelids open to see Louis cradling his head with one hand and with the other holding a bottle of water to his lips.

   Harry gulps it down, already feeling the bruises on his face healing and the cuts knitting together. He can hear the crack of his ribs as they shift into place and popping noise of his shoulder and foot jumping back into their sockets. The fire that had previously burned in his veins dies down and the rushing of blood in his ears settles to the sound of Louis’ voice.

   “What was that?” Harry asks, handing the bottle, empty, to Louis, who takes it and tosses it to the rubbish without even looking. Louis balances a chain in his palm, testing its weight. 

   “Blessed iron. It prevents you from healing,” Louis says simply. He drops it and it clangs to the ground. He slides the sword into a sheath and props it up against the counter, looking away from the tools in disgust.

   “Why are you helping me?” Harry questions, casting hesitant glances towards Liam and his weapon. Louis notices and sighs.

   “Liam, would you mind?” He nods to the door and Liam bobs his head at Louis and sending a small smile to Harry. He leaves the room, shutting the door gently behind him. “He’s harmless, I promise. One of my best friends, he is.”

   Harry is quiet, waiting for Louis to answer his question. The angel bites his lip, fiddling with the buttons of his jacket. He sets himself down by Harry, keeping a fair bit of distance, though.

   “My closest friend, Zayn, was raised by angels. He was found out on the streets when he was only a little boy. He’s a demon, like you,” Louis says, ducking his head. “He is one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. So, there is potential for everyone like you out there. All of you aren’t evil.”

   Harry clears his throat. “How do you know I’m not? Evil, I mean.”

   Louis flicks his gaze over his face. “Your eyes weren’t black. The blessed iron brings out what’s evil in you. It strips you of your disguise. If your eyes don’t turn, there really can’t be much evil inside you. Also, I protected you, because my father can be pretty brutal and no one deserves that.”      

   Harry huffed. “Well, he acts like a child around you.”

   Louis laughs; a sound like bells. “He’s afraid of me and what I can do.”

   “What do you mean?” Harry asks, reaching up to touch his own cheek, inspecting his healing process. His body has fully healed, now and Harry can relax. Louis tenses, shifting uncomfortably at the question. He jumps up. He turns towards the door and, on second thought grabs a blanket, throwing it to Harry and then, pauses with the door open. He clutches the handle hard in his hand.   

   “I’ll get you a room. Until then, just stay here,” With that, he leaves abruptly. Harry frowns, confused. He doesn’t understand why Louis trusts him. He might as well have attacked Louis and escaped, but he hadn’t. Harry had been surprised when Louis had set him free of his chains. If that sword had been swung only a few centimeters higher, he could have easily slashed his throat.

   Harry drapes the blanket over his shoulders, burrowing in and getting some sleep while he can.

***

“Quick, before Louis gets back,” someone hisses. The blanket is ripped from Harry, exposing him to the damp, thick air of the cell. Arms grab him from different directions.

   Jonny is standing above Harry, wrapping his fingers around his neck and applying some pressure. “I could snap your neck, little demon. I wonder how long it’ll take for that to heal, if that.” 

   The one holding his hand in his grip twists it and Harry can hear the snap of his bones breaking. Harry releases a sharp breath between his clenched teeth. Jonny chuckles darkly.

   By far, this man is the worst angel Harry has ever heard of. No angelic creature has ever treated someone with such brutality. There must be something demonic inside this torturer. Unlike Louis’ clear, ocean-like color of his eyes, Jonny’s are a cold, dark navy blue. They glare at Harry with an amount of hate that he has never witnessed.

   “Now, tell me, little demon, where is your hideout? Where do the rest of your kind live?” The tone in Jonny’s voice is desperate as he presses down on Harry’s neck harder. More pressure is applied to his broken wrist and he struggles against the strong grip that holds him. Harry chokes and sputters, attempting to shake his head.

   “You bastard, I told you to leave him, didn’t I?” Louis’ brighter tone seems to light up Harry’s almost-red face, sending waves of relief through him. Hands are ripped from him, leaving him lying on the floor, thrashing under Jonny’s hold. “Jonny! Jon! _Dad!_ ”

   That last word gets through to the man, making him release Harry, who twists to his side and coughs violently. Jonny stares wide-eyed at Louis whose own shine with hurt and anger. Jonny flees the cell and Louis staggers, gulping. A soldier approaches Louis, stepping up beside him and places a hand on his shoulder.     

   “Louis, he’s a _demon_. We can’t let him live,” he says, trying to go for a gentler tone that will hopefully convince the leader’s son.

   “Bullshit,” Louis spits. “Get him to a room, safely, or I will get your sorry excuse of an arse kicked out of this place for good.”

   The soldier scrunches his features together, gripping him roughly this time. “Come on, princess-” Louis knees him in the gut and brings a knife up to his neck.

   “Call me that one more time,” Louis says; his voice anything but soft and gentle, like it had been with Harry. The man clutches his stomach, wheezing.

   “I’m sorry, Louis,” he scampers off, still bent over though, leaving Louis alone with Harry. His eyes are filled with pity as he listens to Harry’s bones mend themselves. Harry rolls over, testing his strength as he struggles to stand. He stumbles and Louis is immediately there, supporting him. This gives him the chance to really smell Louis. He tries to discreetly sniff the boy’s hair, nostrils filling with the scent of fresh vanilla and sweet honey.

   Louis’ scent is probably the most pleasant he has ever smelt in an angel. The vanilla is musky enough to mix wonderfully with the strong honey. Harry breathes in deeply, savoring in everything that is Louis Tomlinson.

   “Are you sniffing me?” Louis says; a smile audible in his tone. Harry looks down at him, his arm draped over the boy’s shoulder. Somehow, he gathers the courage to bury his face in Louis’ hair, and it really is as soft as it looks. Harry groans out a feeble response, tiredness flooding him. The amount of energy that it takes for the healing process to kick in takes its toll on Harry and he feels dopey, even more so with the scent of Louis filling his brain.

   He hears Louis’ sharp intake of breath as he reaches up with a weak arm to trace a finger along the boy’s angular and sharp cheekbones. “You’re tired. You should sleep.”

   Louis pauses outside a wooden door, propping Harry up with one arm and nudging it open. Harry’s eyes are closed, now and Louis flings him one the bed. He may be strong, but dear God, this boy is heavy.

   He huffs, hands on his hips. “I still don’t know your name, you know.”

   The boy tosses his arms out, spread-eagled on the bed. “Styles. Harry Styles.” Then he unexpectedly giggles at his own Bond reference. Louis rolls his eyes, chuckling to himself.

 

 

Harry wakes up on a huge bed. His limbs are flung out in every direction, under white silk sheets covered by a plush bronze-colored coverlet. It is warm and toasty under them and he feels an immense comfort. Two polished mahogany bedside tables are perched on either side and on them rest lamps, which give off a low light.  Three huge wooden wardrobes are lined against the wall and next to them there is a door leading off into a bathroom.

   Harry can see a bronze antique tub and glistening taps. On the sink, bottles and jars are in symmetrical lines and Harry thinks this place is just too organized. He remembers his room back with his family which was messy, clothes strewn everywhere.

   He sits up to examine the bed closer. The headboard is made of mahogany, matching the bedside tables and soft pillows cover half of it. The sheets slip off of Harry’s torso, exposing his skin.

   He is shirtless. Harry doesn’t remember taking it off.  

   He looks to his right to see a wall-length mirror and a big chair with curving golden handles. In that chair, sits Louis. He is fast asleep. His long eyelashes brush the tops of his beautiful cheekbones and his hair is mussed up, probably from tossing and turning in his sleep. His knees are curled up to his chest, his denim jacket draped over his torso. His jaw is relaxed, lips parted and Harry thinks of how those lips had looked yesterday, so close to his.  

    Again, he lets the scent of Louis overwhelm him. Everything about this boy is just so mesmerizing and Harry can see the light flutter of his fingertips as he dreams.

   Harry regards himself in the mirror from his bed, as he lets Louis sleep. His hair is tousled, sticking up flat on one side, the one he slept on. His eyes are a glimmering green with hints of tiredness. Harry tests out his limbs, stretching them and cracking his knuckles. Even though the bed is really big, Harry can almost reach out and touch every corner. It is clearly for someone with a smaller build.

   He turns a switch on one of the lamps and more light is spread in the room. Looking closer now, Harry can see pictures covering the frame. In the first one, there is a dark-haired boy standing next to a younger version of Louis. He wonders who that might be. He looks about the same age as Louis. They have their arms round each other with big smiles on their faces.

   A few of them show Louis and Jay, in different places. This must be his room.

   Harry reaches over to the other lamp on his right side to flick it on, but being the clumsy boy that he is, he knocks it to the floor. Louis jolts awake, jumping out of the chair, startled by the noise. Harry cusses, snatching the lamp up from the carpet.

   He looks over to Lou to see his shirt crumpled and his jeans low on the curve of his hips. He swallows hard, feeling an undeniable desire to rip them off and drag him to bed with him, but the reminder that Louis is an angel and Harry is…not, pangs in his chest, wrenching his heart. Louis would probably push him away in disgust. 

   Harry blinks, ducking his head. He bites his lip.

   Louis rubs his eyes. “Did you sleep okay?” He drags his feet over to the bed, setting himself down on the corner of it, near Harry’s hip. Harry realizes his hair is probably a mess, so he shakes it out and brushes it to the side. Louis’ eyes follow the motion.

   “Yeah, I guess. The bed is very comfy,” He says, cheekily. “Why did you sleep in here?”

   “Oh, I couldn’t find you a room so I put you in mine. I just stayed, in case my dad decided to pay you another ‘visit’,” Louis hooks his fingers on the word.

   “I sort of guessed it was your room,” Harry says and gestures to the pictures on the mirror. “You’re in every one of them and…”

   He pauses, not daring to say anything for a moment, but he pats the covers. “The bed, kind of, smells like you.”

   Louis tilts his head to the side, a heart-wrenching smile on his face that could bring Harry to his knees. “It does? What do I smell like?” He folds his legs under him, playing with the sheets. His eyes are so blue; Harry’s lips part as he stares into them.

   “Um,” He begins awkwardly, scratching his collarbones. He hesitantly reaches out to wrap his fingers around Louis’ wrist, bringing it up to his nose and inhaling deeply. Even though he already has his scent memorized; he just wants an excuse to touch him. He brushes his lips against his skin as he speaks. “Yours is vanilla and honey. You smell good.”

     Louis gasps lightly and his eyelids flutter closed. Taking a risk, Harry presses a kiss to his inner wrist. He sits up fully and leans in closer, dipping down to rest his forehead against Louis’ collarbone, breathing in. Louis is intoxicating and Harry can’t seem to get enough. He trails his palms up and down Louis’ arms, caressing him.  

   “Louis Tomlinson, you insufferable bugger, open the door and explain yourself!” Someone shouts from outside, making the two boys jump. Louis looks guiltily at Harry before hurrying to aid the other boy, who is currently banging on the door with his fists.

   Behind the wooden door, there stands a dark-haired boy, the same one from the pictures. He has high cheekbones and long eyelashes and stubble across his jaw. He storms in, turning around to face Louis, completely oblivious to Harry’s presence.

   “I was out on patrol today. Do you wanna explain why I found your scent all over an alleyway outside of a certain _gay club?_ ” The boy screeches. “I thought I told you to never visit that place. It is run by demons and dangerous for someone like you.” 

   “Zayn,” Louis nods, jaw clenched and eyes wide in warning, to where Harry is sitting, legs crossed and tangled under the silky sheets. The boy named Zayn blinks and tilts his head until the realization dawns on him. “I saved a demon today. Just so you know.”

   Zayn lifts a hand to his belt. A gun hangs there and Louis steps up close to his side. They are standing too close for Harry’s liking, to be honest. Louis drapes an arm across the boy’s chest, bringing him down to his height and whispering something his ear. Zayn wraps his own arm around the blue-eyed boy’s waist, still throwing hesitant glances towards Harry. He catches the jealous looks Harry is sending him and smirks, leaning down to kiss Louis’ forehead.

   An involuntary growl rips out low from Harry’s throat and Louis’ mouth drops open. Zayn just laughs.

   “I think your boy here is getting a little possessive,” he teases and Lou punches him in the shoulder. Harry ducks his head, twisting his fists in the sheets, ashamed and blushing. Zayn guffaws. “Wow, I’ve never seen a demon blush before.”

   Louis rolls his eyes. “I have. Whenever Liam pays you a compliment or even looks at you, you turn red like a tomato. It’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”

   A quick giggle bubbles out of Harry’s mouth and he clamps a hand over it. Louis smiles at him, brightly and glowing and Zayn looks between the two boys, reading their faces and rolling his eyes.       

***

It takes time for Harry to be able to walk around the angels’ house without people attacking him. Louis stays by his side, like a sticker and wards others off when they hold up weapons at him. He shoots glares at them and there is a slight glow to him that fills Harry with joy, an emotion he isn’t that used to. The boy’s hair is so soft to the touch and his eyes shine a bright body-warming blue. They seem to stare right into Harry’s soul, if he has one. And if he does have a soul, it belongs to Louis.     

    Harry is also very protective of his angel. He sees some of the hunters sending hungry glances in the boy’s direction and he has to stifle the need to punch them in the face, but instead he nudges his shoulder to Louis’, hooking his little finger through his.

   Louis and Harry spend most of their days cooped up in his room, playing FIFA. There has been a few times when Louis has taken him outside to play real soccer, but they don’t always get the field to themselves. Louis, in his tight shirt and shorts, attracts a lot of attention and Harry, along with others can barely keep their hands off of him. Harry clenches his fists, growling at the hunters, keeping Lou close to him.

   One night, they come back from a game, both out of breath from chasing each other around. Harry collapses on the bed, legs hanging off the edge. Louis sighs heavily, circling over to his wardrobe and opening a drawer. He pulls out a fresh shirt, dragging his own off and revealing an undershirt made out of some sort of tight fabric that clings to Louis’ torso.

   Harry’s mouth turns dry as he watches the muscles in Louis’ back bunch together as he yanks that off, too and replaces it with a loose t-shirt that almost hangs off of Louis’ frame. Harry is pretty sure his face is twitching when he sees Louis change into a pair of pajama pants and flick his hair about, adjusting it. His fingers itch to touch him. He wants to bite at the soft golden skin of his neck and feel him squirm underneath his own body.

   Harry feels a sharp pang of jealousy when he realizes that Louis will be spending the night in Zayn’s room. It’s what he’s been doing for the past two nights and Harry hates it when Louis walks away. Harry fiddles with the hem of his striped soccer shirt. When he hears Louis sigh, again, he wonders if Louis really likes walking out on him. Judging from the way Louis carries himself tiredly and hesitantly towards the door, he is somewhat conflicted.

   “I don’t want you to leave,” Harry’s voice has never been weaker than it is in that moment. Louis still hears it, though and bites down on his lip.

   “Don’t really want to sleep in that chair, again. I don’t think my back can take it.”

   Harry gulps, searching for words. “You don’t have to. You can sleep in the bed…with me.” A small smile appears on the angel’s face and even though he tries to hide it, Harry can see it clearly. Louis steps around to the right side of the bed, lifting the covers and slipping in and taking his shirt off, leaving him only in pajama pants. Harry discards his soccer shirt, throwing it in the washing basket.   

   Louis faces away from him, the sheets crumpled around his waist, showing off his back. Harry wants to trail his palm along the length of it, but he’s afraid of how he’ll react. Would he push him away? Louis’ back muscles contract when he twists his neck a little.

   “I don’t bite, you know,” Louis says, a hint of sass in his voice. Harry chuckles.

   “ _I_ might, though,” he replies then cringes, remembering suddenly who he is and where he comes from. Demons have a bad history of killing people by biting them. Louis tenses and Harry hides his face in the pillow, mumbling. “Sorry. That was bad.”

   Louis shakes his head and lets his hand drift backwards, taking hold of Harry’s and drawing it around his waist. Feeling Louis’ hot skin on his, Harry can’t resist grabbing the boy’s shoulder and pulling him fully against his body. Louis lets out a mix of a gasp and a groan, letting his head loll to the side, facing Harry. Their lips are close together and Harry, once again, is overwhelmed by the smell of vanilla and honey. He buries his face in Louis’ neck, his hands slipping down his bare chest and sliding over the curve of his hip.

   His hand glides down to palm Louis’ crotch and Louis moans, rocking into the touch. Harry is about to lean forward to press their lips together, but Louis makes a choked off noise and pulls away, covering his mouth.

   Harry had known this was bound to happen. He is nothing more than demon to Louis; he’d known that from the start. He rubs his face, sighing heavily and is about to turn onto his other side, but Louis captures one of his hands in his own.

   “Please don’t,” he says, weakly. “I’m sorry.”

   “S’okay, Lou,” There is a tremble and a hoarseness to his voice as he speaks quietly. Louis holds Harry’s fingers between his and leans his forehead on them.

   “No, it’s not. You don’t understand. I-I’m not what you think I am.”

   Harry frowns at that and presses his thumb to Louis’ lips. The low light in the room casts shadows across his face, adding a glow to him and Harry is breathless just looking at him. “You’re my angel, Lou. What else could you be?”

   Louis sighs, sitting up. Harry joins him, palm still in between his. Louis ducks his head, twisting his mouth to one side. “Have you ever heard of the Descendants?”  

   Harry shakes his head, brows furrowed.

   “It is the offspring of archangels. They are the most powerful angels to ever exist. My mum and dad are both Descendants and for me, being their child, it means I’m pretty much the greatest angel ever created. It’s why Zayn and Liam are so protective of me.”

   “So, you’re literally a God-given gift. What does this have to do with _us_?” Harry taps Louis’ chest, then his own. Louis groans, hiding his face in the crook of his elbows. Harry tugs at them, but they are unrelenting.     

   “It means I’m not supposed to take my _virginity_ lightly,” Louis mumbles, putting emphasis on the shocking word in that sentence and when the meaning sinks in, Harry’s eyes widen. His jaw falls limp and he dazedly plucks at the coverlet.

   “That’s why Zayn got so mad when he thought-” Harry waves his hand in the air, barely able to produce words. “A-at that gay club he was talking about. He thought you’d slept with someone.”

   “My wings would be clipped if I were to have sex with a…with a demon.” 

   Dead silence falls over them and Harry watches Louis as the boy breathes deeply. He tries to calm down his heart, but it is jumping erratically beneath his ribcage. Because Louis is what he is, he can’t be with someone from the dark side, which means he can’t be with Harry.

   “Your father’d skin me alive if we were to…” Harry doesn’t dare finish the thought. Harry can’t have Louis. At least not in the way he’s been dying to for days now. Everything he’d ever wanted to have with his angel is blown out of the water and into fucking space, because Harry doesn’t want to get Louis in trouble, or even worse, hurt. Harry grips at his own hair, eventually folding himself under the covers and pulling Louis down with him. “Just go to sleep. I’m here.”

   Louis curls into him, heavily breathing, and tangled their limbs together.

***

Angel and demon.

   Two different versions of the universe.

   Heaven and the Underworld.

  

And yet here they stand, side by side, in a kitchen, bussing food back and forth to the dining room. While spending time in the hunters’ academy, with a few of them who actually accept Harry as a friend, they had discovered that he could cook. They decided he could be put to work, helping the men and ladies behind the stoves.

   Louis joined Harry most times; helping him cut up vegetables, but after he accidentally sliced his finger and burned his elbow only by _walking past_ the stove, he wasn’t allowed to help with the actual cooking. Instead he acted as a busboy, carrying out trays of food to his mates.

   Slipping alongside Harry to pick another tray, he holds it up with one hand, spinning and twisting the towel over his shoulder and using it to slap Harry’s bum. The demon jerked, spilling flour over the counter.

   In retaliation, Harry dips his hand in the floaty white substance and smacks Louis, right on his left cheek, leaving a handprint on his red jeans, matching Harry’s palm.

   The men flipping pancakes in pans burst out in loud laughter, waving their spatulas. Louis’ face burns as he tries to wipe it off, while walking out with the tray. Even from the kitchen, Harry can hear the clear guffaws coming from the boy’s friends.

   Louis returns with red cheeks and a scowl meant purposely for Harry, who just grins as an answer.

   Harry tries; he tries to distance himself from Louis, but everything that damn boy does just reels him back in. What drives Harry absolutely insane is the way he flicks his hair to the side when kicking a football, when he yells like an idiot at Liam when they play FIFA, the shine of his ocean-blue crystals of eyes and the glow of his skin when he snuggles into Harry when they sit with the boys on the couch and also his laugh. The bell-like sound always seems to find a way to nestle and burrow into him, filling him with warmth.

   More people seem to realize that Louis belongs to him. Whenever someone who Harry hasn’t seen before approaches his angel, he flips, but in the most discreet way possible. He tries to keep his clenched fists by his waist as he sidles up next to Louis, hovering protectively. Where Louis goes, Harry does, too.

   In the kitchen, Louis punches one of the men, Paul, in the shoulder, scolding him for laughing. Harry just grabs him from behind, chuckling into his neck. Distracted, Louis falters in his step at the hot puffs of Harry’s breath on his skin. Harry maintains his grin, drifting away. Louis ducks his chin and sees two large handprints travelling the expanse of his waist. Louis realizes how small he really is, compared to Harry. The prints cover the width of his waist completely.

   “Damn you, Haz. I’ll get you for that,” he shouts, hopping up onto Harry, wrapping his legs around him. Harry bellows, wrestling him down. He draws Lou’s arms to his back, effectively trapping him. Harry glances around and sees the cooks looking away from the boys, smiling at their joking around.

   Harry isn’t joking, though.

   Since they aren’t looking, Harry pulls Louis closer, back to chest, dipping his head to nudge it to Louis’, brushing his lips up and down his neck, like the lightest of kisses. Louis exhales; a sound like relief. There is a glow to him that wasn’t there before.

   “You’re glowing,” he tells him, in awe. Louis trembles, loosening his body.   

   Seeing Louis like this, completely submitting to Harry, body quivering, does things to Harry. This boy is like a drug; he can’t rid himself of him. His little angel…oh shit.

   His _angel._ That reminds Harry of who and where they are and he lets his hands drop. Louis turns to face him, dazedly. Harry opens his mouth to say something, but they are interrupted by a woman clearing her throat.

   It is the woman who helped torture Harry. He hisses, crossing to stand in front of Louis, shielding him from her view. The woman just rolls her eyes.

   “Jonny has requested you,” she says simply. Louis grimaces.

   “Since when, are you and my father on first-name basis?” he asks, peeking over Harry’s shoulder. The woman gives him an indifferent glance.

   “Just follow me; the both of you.”     

   The boys drift behind her, close together and hands almost touching. They don’t really know what’s going on, but Harry has an idea. Jonny has never approved of Harry’s stay at the academy, especially the fact that he has spent it with his only son. Harry fiddles with his shirt nervously. He has borrowed one of Zayn’s white t-shirts because the angel’s clothes never seem to fit Harry. His jeans has remained intact since when he was held captive and he pretty much never takes them off, except for when he plays soccer with the boys; then, he wears sweats.

    The woman opens the door to Jonny’s office. He sits behind his desk, a firm expression on his face, but when he sees the two boys so close, it is replaced with a grimace. He snarls lowly, causing Louis to take a step closer to Harry, instead of away from him.

   “What do you want?” Louis doesn’t waste time; he wants to get Harry as far away from his father as soon as possible. He doesn’t like the way Jonny glares at Harry, like he could hop up on the table and swing a mace at his neck. Jonny raises his chin indignantly.

   “I want that demon out of here,” he darkly says. “He doesn’t belong here.”

   “He belongs with me,” Louis murmurs. Jonny scoffs.

   “You have no future with someone like him,” he jabs a thumb at Harry, whose heart drops to the soles of his feet. “Remember who you are. _Angelo potente.”_

   Powerful angel; Harry translates.

   “I don’t want that. I never have,” Louis protests. Jonny shakes his head.

   “This demon is filling your head with nonsense! He should be killed,” Jonny flicks his index finger at a man; the same one who had called Louis a princess. The man steps forward, brandishing two long, thin swords. The woman, now standing next to Jonny, brings up a gun, aiming it at Harry’s skull. Louis’ eyes widen as two hands grip him and try to drag him off. Louis yells, struggling against their hold. The man raises one of his swords.

   “Ethan, stop! Don’t do this,” Louis shouts. Ethan ignores him and points the length of the blade at Harry. Louis curses under his breath as he elbows one of soldiers in the gut, whacking the side of his wrist into the other’s windpipe, effectively knocking the breath out of him.

   Ethan growls charging, but Louis gets there first and he is glowing. Like, really, brighter-than-the-sun-glowing. It is that moment that Harry realizes _wings_ are folding around him, protecting him from the woman’s bullets and Ethan’s swords. They are soft, light to the touch and they’re an almost transparent white. Some of the feathers are golden, glinting in the light.

   Louis’ fingers are curling into Harry’s hair, massaging his scalp. The demon’s mouth is gaping open, in complete awe. He traces his fingers, the lightest of touches, over the tops of his wings. They flutter at his touch, inching in to him, curling protectively.

   “Damn it, Veronica, put your gun down. My son is right there! You can’t shoot.”

   There comes a snarl from the woman as she curses, tossing the gun on the desk.

   “Ethan, lower your weapons,” Jonny says. The very tips of Louis’ wings are caressing Harry’s shoulder blades. Harry shudders, drawing his angel in to his body.

   “I won’t let you hurt him. He’s _staying_ ,” Louis insists, the angelic glow passing his torso and wandering up to his hair, making the tips transparent. At the sight of it, the soldiers back down, sending frightened and warning glances to Jonny, whose mouth is gaping open; nails digging into the wood of the desk.

   “That’s not possible,” he hisses. Harry furrows his brows, confused, but realization seems to dawn on Louis as he glances down his body and the boy tugs Harry out of the room, shielding him with his wings.

   Harry is roughly dragged up the stairs and into Louis’ room. When inside, the angel folds his wings, hides his face and sinks on the bed. Harry tilts his head to the side, moving forward to cup Louis’ face. He nudges their foreheads together.

   “Angel, what’s wrong?”

   “I glow. I, motherfucking, _glow_! _”_ Louis mumbles.

   “What are you talking about? Yes, you glow. I noticed that a long time ago,” Harry says breezily. Louis, however, perks up.  

   “’A long time ago’? When exactly was this?” Louis asks loudly, eyes wide. Harry shrugs.

   “The day after we met, I guess. When I met Zayn,” Harry says simply, not expecting the responding groan. Louis sobs and Harry tries to comfort him by petting his wings, but they just quiver at his touch and the boy lets out a quiet moan.

   “I’ve been in love for a _month?”_ Louis exclaims. Harry rears back, hurt flashing through his eyes. He doesn’t understand. He’s been with Louis every second of every day; how did this boy have time to fall in love with someone else? Disappointment and rejection are two of many emotions running through Harry and he dazedly thumps back on his arse.

   Harry’s eyes sting as he cards through his hair, digging his toes into the floor.

   “You’re in love with someone,” he says, emotionlessly. “Who is it?” He is frozen in his place, glaring at the floor. His expression is blank. He feels soft feathers envelop him and smooth skin caressing his face. He raises his gaze to Louis’ face and sees his blue eyes shining. Louis is smiling and he ducks his chin to brush his lips across Harry’s jawline.

   “You, of course,” Louis chuckles. “Idiot, you thought I was in love with someone other than you?”

   Harry nods and makes these choked-off noises.

   “How the hell was I supposed to know? I thought I was just some charity case demon that you saved. I didn’t think you’d actually love me back.”

   Louis sits himself down in Harry’s lap, folding his wings around them both. “The glow we were talking about, it’s the way angels show their love. Harry, you’re not a charity case. Yes, you are a demon that I saved, but if you were only that to me, don’t you think I would’ve let you leave already? Let you go home? I want you here, with me.”

   Harry looks up at him, lips parted. He cups Louis’ neck, bringing him closer. “I love you. You’re my angel.”

   Louis breathes a sigh of relief and mumbles into his collarbones, “I love you, too, _il mio demone prezioso._ ” Harry moans, gripping the boy’s waist and sliding his hands up his torn shirt, seeking out the rough skin where Louis’ wings connect to his back.

   _My precious demon_. That’s what Harry is to Louis. _His._ He belongs to him fully.

   Louis arches into Harry’s touch and he tugs at his hair in response. Harry trails kisses up his neck, leading up to Louis mouth. He realizes that he has kissed the boy’s wrist, collarbones, neck and his jaw, but never his lips. They have never really kissed before.

   Harry lets his bottom lip drag against Louis’ jawline and presses a kiss on the corner of his mouth. His hands come up to hold Louis’ cheeks, touching their lips together. Louis gasps into his mouth, clutching his curls in a tight grip. He deepens the kiss, rocking his hips into Harry’s abdomen, grinding down and sending notions of urgency running through Harry’s mind. He growls, bucking up and raking blunt nails across Louis’ spine. The boy calls out, pushing down harder. Harry almost lets desire take over, but the shuddering of Louis’ wings reminds him that they really shouldn’t be doing this. He makes a sound of protest and breaks away.

   “W-we can’t, Louis,” he pants and skims his palms over the softness of his cloud-white and golden feathers. “I don’t want you to get hurt, because of me. I won’t take advantage of you, like that.”

   Louis whimpers, swiveling his hips onto Harry’s erection. “What if I want you to take advantage of me?”

   Harry groans, letting his head loll back. This boy will be the death of him. “You’ll lose your wings and your power. I can’t do that to you.”

   Louis leans down and sucks a mark onto his skin. “I don’t want it, any of it.” He licks over the marks he’s made. Harry moans, low in his throat. Louis nibbles on his earlobe, scratching his chest. “I want you.”

   The huskiness of his voice makes Harry choke off, grab handfuls of Louis’ shirt and rip it apart. He rubs his hands up and down, occasionally digging his nails in and Louis keens. Harry pulls the remains of Louis’ tattered shirt off completely and, while growling, animalistic, he latches onto one of Louis’ nipples. He bites at it, fervently and, with lightning speed, he plops him down on the bed, crawling over him. He never removes his mouth from his hardened bud and keeps his teeth on it.

   He has wanted this for what feels like forever and he doesn’t ever want to stop. He repeats the same motions with Louis’ left nipple as he did with the right and sucks at the indents and contours of his muscled chest. Louis’ breathing is labored as he responds eagerly to his touch. He slides his palms where he can reach, wanting Harry to feel as good as he does. He pushes at Harry’s shoulders, trying to get his mouth on him, too, but Harry hisses, yanking them up over his head and trapping them there with one hand.

   “Fuck, Harry,” Louis chokes out, bucking up with his hips, searching for friction. He is so unbelievably hard and all of this is because of Harry. He never really thought that he’d ever fall in love with a demon, but yet here he is, offering himself completely to Harry. “Damn it. Just get your clothes off.”

   Harry ignores him, instead getting rid of Louis red jeans and bending down to lick and bite bruises into his inner thighs. Louis sobs, eyes closed, reaching blindly for him, but Harry just travels the length of his strong legs, not relenting to Louis’ wishes.

   “If we’re going to do this, we’re doing it my way,” there is a possessive quality to Harry’s voice that makes Louis tremble. Harry thumbs at the edge of Louis’ briefs, hesitating. He has dreamed about this so many times. He presses hot open-mouthed kisses to Louis’ smooth, golden skin and tugs them off his legs, dropping them to the floor.

   “Oh Louis,” he moans when he lays eyes on his angel. Louis’ hair is spread over the pillow, wrists thrown up by his head in defeat, his eyes are a dazed crystal blue and his torso is arched up from the bed. Purple bruises are covering his chest and neck; his nipples are red-bitten and swollen from Harry’s attention. His cock is a throbbing, angry-red, leaking mess, lying heavily against his stomach. Harry moans, sucking one more purple mark into his thigh before raking his nails over the clenched muscles in Louis’ abdomen. He regards Louis with a wicked grin that causes more quivers and trembles to run up Louis’ spine.

   Harry lowers his mouth to the tip of Louis’ cock and teases him with kitten-licks over the head and up the side of it. Louis bucks, crying out. Harry knows he’s never felt anything like this and it makes him harden further, thinking that this is it. He is Louis’ first at everything and oh, how he will teach him. Harry will show Louis all he’s ever known and unknowingly, right in that moment, he makes a commitment to never leave Louis.

   Louis is whining, clawing at the sheets. Harry closes his lips over the tip and sinks down. He can only take about three quarters of Louis’ length, but he pumps the rest of it with a tight fist. Louis groans between clenched teeth. Harry bobs his head and twists his hand in sync. He alternates in speeds; sometimes slow to the point where Louis is begging for more or fast where the angel is practically sobbing. He sucks at the head, digging his tongue in the slit, causing Louis to call out loudly.

   He pulls off, crawling up Louis’ body. He yanks his shirt off and for the sole purpose of teasing Lou, he inches his tight jeans down, making sure he’s watching. Louis licks his lips when he sees the large tent in Harry’s boxers. He growls unexpectedly and forces Harry down on the bed, straddling him and grinding down.

   Harry gasps out. In a desperate need to return the favor, Louis draws a hardened nipple in his mouth, tugs and laves his tongue over it in slow torturous motions. Harry cards his fingers through his hair, gripping it as Louis slides down his chest, licking over the defined dents that are his abs. He winks at Harry before mouthing over his hard cock, through his boxers. Louis’ hot breath affects him so, that he groans, twisting the sheets in his free hand.

   Louis drags the fabric down his legs, biting down hard at his hipbone. Harry hisses, lifting his hips, causing his cock to hit Louis’ chin. The boy frowns, considering Harry’s hard length. He raises his eyebrows and trying to copy Harry, he first licks stripes up the sides and over the head. Harry hums. His breathing turns erratic when he sees his own tip slip between Louis’ lips. He almost jack-knifes, though, when Louis envelopes him whole, _in one fucking go._

   Harry pretty much screams as he feels Louis’ throat tighten around him. He pulls hard at his hair, which causes Louis to moan, sending vibrations down his cock.

   “Shit, shit, Lou!” he can’t keep himself from cumming when Louis bobs his head, continuously humming around him. He shoots right into his mouth and sees Louis swirl it around. Harry’s eyes bulge at the sight. Louis swallows, smiling contentedly at his taste. Harry’s mouth is gaping open. “Fuck, Louis. Do you just not have a gag reflex?”

   Louis tilts his head to the side. “What’s a gag reflex?” Harry covers his face, shuddering uncontrollably.

   “You’re unbelievable. That was so good, you have no idea.” Louis settles his hips in between Harry’s legs, kissing his neck and Harry takes the opportunity to flip them over, burying his angel into the mattress. He skims his hands down Louis’ sides and crashes their lips together. The kiss is desperate and packed with desire and longing. Harry can’t believe how much he wants Louis.

   Louis hasn’t come once yet; his cock is long and curved up to his belly, dripping pre-come. Harry licks over his tip once, gathering it in his mouth and savoring his taste. He brings Louis’ knees up to his chest and thumbs over his hole. It clenches at his touch and Louis moans.

   “So pretty,” Harry murmurs. He bends down and licks a stripe from it up to Louis’ balls. He teases around the rim, tonguing it and then pulling back to sink his teeth into his luscious thighs. Harry kneads them, leaning down again to suck and nibble at his hole. Louis twitches, sobbing with the need to come. He prods at it for another few minutes until he relents enough to push his tongue inside as far as it can go.

   _Now, for the real kicker,_ Harry says, planning to absolutely destroy his angel. He closes his eyes, feeling his transformation take over. He limits it to only his tongue, not wanting Louis to freak out if he looks down and sees a pair of black eyes gazing back. His tongue elongates, reaching places no human could ever get to. Louis makes a confused noise, twisting the sheets in his fists.  

   He cries out when he feels the wet length push deeper and thicken. It pulses and vibrates inside him and it completely overwhelms him. It is flicking along his inner walls, massaging them and seeking out his prostate. Harry is hardening rapidly at the sounds Louis is making.

   He grins when Louis’ hands fly to clutch at his hair, bucking down onto Harry’s long, thick tongue.

   _Found it,_ he thinks, victoriously. He plunges his tongue in and out repeatedly, causing sharp breaths to puff out from Louis’ mouth. Harry closes his lips over Louis’ rim, sucking on it while maintaining his sharp thrusts, prodding his prostate every time.

   “Uh, Harry!” He shouts and shoots white lines over his chest. Harry slips out, bringing his tongue back and revels in the taste that rests on it. He moans, sliding back up his body, slotting their legs and grinding down on Louis’ hip.

   “I’m not done with you yet,” Harry growls, guiding Louis’ lips to his. They meld and mesh together and Harry nibbles on his lips, making them swollen and plump. Louis whines, already growing hard. Harry looks around, thinking. Considering the fact that Louis has never done anything sexual in his life, he probably doesn’t have any lube in his nightstand. “Louis, do you, by any chance have lube?”

   The angel blushes. “Um, check the third drawer in the bathroom. Zayn bought me some, as a joke for my eighteenth birthday.”

   Harry chuckles. He takes hold of Louis’ hand, sucking three of his fingers into his mouth. He wets them sufficiently and when they’re dripping with saliva, he holds them up for Louis to see. He leans down to bite at Louis’ ear.

   “I want you to finger yourself for me,” Harry makes his voice as low as possible, knowing the effect it has on Louis, who whimpers in response. When he lets go of his hand, it immediately flies down and two force their way in. Louis is so stretched from Harry’s tongue, it gives almost no resistance. He makes a gurgled noise when he slips three fingers in.

   Harry is frozen mid-way to the bathroom, not being able to take his eyes off of Louis’ body. He lowers a hand to slowly pump himself, getting off on the sight of his angel, the supposedly innocent creature, and three fingers deep inside himself.

   “Harry,” Louis croaks. “Hurry up. I n-need you.”   

   The boy bolts to the bathroom, rifling through the third drawer by the sink. He paws at the objects inside and when he finds a bottle of clear lube, he hurries back to the bed, also with a towel in hand.

   Louis is up to four fingers even though it is getting dry, he is still pumping them faster and faster. He feels the weight of the bed dip and shoots his hips forward.

   “Not enough. Want you,” Louis says in this wrecked voice that brings Harry on his knees. Harry is much bigger than a human and he knows Louis has to be thoroughly stretched so he returns to his position between the boy’s legs and, removing Louis’ fingers, shoves his tongue in again. Louis’ moan is long-drawn and his whole body is flushed. His fingertips alternate between clawing the sheets, gripping Harry’s curls and pinching his nipples.

   Harry thickens his tongue to its max and pumps Louis’ cock with his left hand. He tries to speed up the process, but Louis is thrashing about on the bed, ready to come, again. He prods his prostate one more time before slipping out. He grabs the bottle of lube and, popping the cap, dribbles some on his cock.

   Louis has flung his limbs in every direction, his thighs quivering and fists clenching. He is exhausted; he has never felt anything like this before and he is getting so much of it in just one go. Harry glides his palm over his length, putting some pressure on it and moaning as Louis writhes on the bed, waiting for Harry to touch him.

   Harry lines his tip with Louis’ clenching hole. He inches in and wipes his hand off on the towel. Louis winces, holding on to Harry’s shoulder. Since this is Louis’ first time, it does sting, even when he is this stretched. He gives him time to adjust, half-way inside. He soothes his golden skin with kisses and licks and caresses.

   Soon, Louis is nodding his head, jutting his hips out. “Move, please.”

   Harry complies, pushing in the rest of the way, settling his hip bones against Louis’ shaking thighs. He almost pulls out, just letting the tip stay inside before thrusting shallowly, giving Louis time to fully get used to Harry’s size.

   Louis breath hitches in his throat and he wraps his legs around Harry’s waist, arching up, reaching for Harry. He drops down on his forearms to touch his angel and starts going deeper, coaxing moans from Louis.

   Keeping his thrusts deep but slow, Harry traces his thumb over Louis’ lips, admiring the plump pink flesh. Completely gone, Louis sucks it into his mouth, sucking on it lightly. Harry groans, speeding up. He slams into Louis, not being able to hold back. Louis cries out in pleasure.

   “Don’t stop,” he mumbles into Harry’s shoulder. Small whimpers and slip from his mouth. “Harder.”

   Harry growls and complies, raising Louis’ legs over his shoulders and pumping his hips harder and faster. Slamming in and pulling out repeatedly, Harry throws his head back and his hands come up to grip at the headboard.

   “So big,” Louis murmurs, in a daze, tugging at Harry’s curls. “You’re stretching me so good.”

   Harry lets his head fall to Louis’ neck, moaning. He loves Louis’ voice like this; absolutely wrecked, raspy and husky. He presses their lips together and it’s barely a kiss; they just pant into each other’s mouths. Harry can feel the familiar tug in his lower abdomen and it urges him to push faster.

   Louis’ toes curl behind Harry’s neck and his breathing turns even more erratic. Harry feels Louis pull at his hair harder and it causes him to cry out, coming deep inside him. Desperate to make Louis feel the same, he drops his arms from the headboard and wraps his hands in fists in the soft sweaty strands of his hair, pulling his neck back viciously, biting down on the skin there and, giving it all he has, pounds relentlessly into his prostate.

   “Harry!” Louis comes with a sharp cry. His skin lights up golden and it’s like he is burning from the inside out. His palms are placed right over Harry’s heart and they seem to shine, sending waves of heat that wrap around his ribcage. It spreads through his entire being and it’s like there is a sun below him, causing him to glow. It trails up Harry’s neck, enveloping him whole. It does burn but it also feels so good.

   When it’s over, Harry flops down atop his body, worn out. He playfully nibbles at Louis’ ear and the boy cuddles into him in response.

   “What the heck was that?” he asks, molding himself to Louis’ body. Louis huffs. 

   “I have no idea,” he chuckles. “Something to do with my angelness, maybe.”

   “Is that a word?” Harry mutters against Louis’ neck. Both of them are so out of it after those last moments. The mini explosion between them has really knocked them both out.

   “No idea,” he mumbles back, rapidly falling asleep in Harry’ tight embrace.

***

   “Oh, fuck. You didn’t?” a voice says disbelievingly. Harry cracks an eyelid open and sees Zayn standing, shaking his head, arms crossed. Louis stirs in his embrace and he looks down at him. His hair is mussed to the side, sticking up here and there. His skin is sun-kissed and his blue eyes shine with tiredness. Their legs are tangled and Harry’s fingers are drawing patterns on his chest. When he lays eyes on Zayn, he sits bolt upright and then, winces, clapping a hand over his lower back.

   “My bum,” he says, shock and a little pain in his tone. Harry smiles apologetically, petting him. He notices that he can’t see Louis’ wings, but there are no scars. An angel’s wings aren’t always visible; they often mold themselves and sink into their skin.

   _Are they gone?_ Harry wonders.

   Zayn groans, covering his face. He collapses on the bed. “Lou, do you have any idea of what you’ve given up?” Then, he sniffs. “Harry, did you take a bath? You smell…different.”

   Louis frowns and leans forward to sniff at Harry’s neck. He thumbs over one of the marks he’d made, unconsciously. “You smell like green apples; tangy, but sweet.”

   Harry buries his face in Louis’ hair. “Still vanilla and honey, like always.” Does this mean Louis is still an angel? Does he have his wings? Louis concentrates for a moment.

   Finally, his wings spring out from his back, revealing them. They swoop over the boys’ head like a canopy of feathers. They fold themselves around Harry, fluttering against his bare chest and sides. Harry shudders and runs his fingertips over them, causing them to burrow closer to him. They emit a faint white light and Louis lets them beat a few times before settling them against Harry. They hum with power and Harry brushes his lips over the top of one.

   Louis gasps and moans, holding his hands out for Harry.

   _“Ahem,”_ Zayn clears his throat. “I’m still in the room. Save it for when you’re alone.” Louis makes a sound of protest, but lets them fall back to his sides.   

   “Why do I still have my wings? Not that I’m complaining, but you know, I’m curious.”   

   “Don’t know,” He shrugs, but then he perks up, an idea forming in his mind. He turns to Harry. “I want you to shift.”

   Harry scrunches his features together, confused. Zayn waves his hand in the air. “You know, show your demonic side or whatever.” Harry looks uncertainly to Louis. He doesn’t want Louis to see him like that.

   Apparently, Zayn doesn’t give him much choice. He snatches a dagger from his belt and slashes a cut along Harry’s cheek. Harry can’t help it; he hisses and he just has this horrible feeling that his eyes are black, his fangs are out and that his tattoos are starker than ever. He then hides his face from Louis, trying to duck under the sheets, but Louis’ hands stop him.

   Harry whimpers and Louis places his pinky under his chin, lifting it. When Harry gathers the courage to look up, the first thing he sees is Louis’ eyes. They are a wondrous blue, bright with color and love. They stare right at him and they don’t look away in disgust or fear.

   Zayn hums, shoving the dagger in his belt. He grabs Harry’s jaw, tilting it towards him and considers his face. “Your eyes aren’t black, just gray, no claws, your tattoos are gone. The tongue is still long and forked, with slightly fanged teeth, but you don’t smell like a trash-can, like you used to.”

   Harry rears back, hiding behind Louis’ shoulder. He waits for his body to shift back.

   “What does that mean?” he hears Louis ask. Zayn sighs heavily, scratching his stubble. He rubs his temples, speechless for a few minutes. Louis takes Harry’s hand in his, thumbing over his knuckles.

   “It means you’re not evil,” Zayn says. “Not like before, at least. You’re more angelic, I guess. You smell sweet, your eyes are brighter, your skin has a better complexion and you, sort of, glow.”

   Harry and Louis freeze at the word. They both come to the same conclusion. What happened during Louis’ release had clearly affected them, but they’d had no idea of just how much.

   “So, I’m not a demon anymore?” Harry asks tentatively, scooting closer to Louis. Zayn chews on the inside of his cheek.

   “No, I’d say you’re more of half and half. I don’t know how, but you’ve changed.”

   Harry and Louis grin at each other. They think to themselves that they might have future like this. They know that, even though Louis is strong, he can’t protect him forever. Like this, they might just have a chance. Jonny wouldn’t have let Harry live much longer. He would’ve found a way to get Harry alone and kill him.

   Louis sighs in relief and lets his forehead fall to Harry’s collarbones. He strokes his sides and his chest, letting his wings curve and move at Harry’s touch. He flicks them around Harry’s face, acting as a loving caress.

   A knowing look passes over Zayn’s model-like features and he winks at them, back-pedaling to the door. “I’m gonna hang out with Liam.”

   Louis smiles at him gratefully. He leans his head on Harry’s shoulder, nuzzling in and breathing in the scent of green apples. He thumbs at the bronze-colored covers and presses a kiss just under his ear. Harry takes his hand, bringing it up to hold against his cheek. Louis sighs, hunching over.

   “You can’t stay here anymore,” Louis whispers. “My dad will kill you if he sees you.”

   “He’s not exactly gonna let you off easy, either,” Harry counters. He bumps their cheeks together. “Come with me. We’ll get an apartment and go to Uni. I’m not leaving you here.”

   Louis freezes. “Do you mean that?”

   “Of course, Lou. I love you. Don’t ever doubt that,” Harry tucks him in to his body, caressing his wings and affectionately nipping at his ear. Louis looks over to the mirror, behind Harry. He hasn’t realized how good they look together. Louis is small, delicate but strong, pretty features and defined jawline. Harry is big, long-limbed, slender and muscular, broad shoulders and narrow hips.  They fit like two pieces of a puzzle. Louis fits into Harry’s side, like they were molded for one another, for this particular purpose.

   “I love you, too,” Louis breathes. “I never wanted what my father wanted. This is what I want. You. Take me away from here.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for Reading xx


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